


Hurt

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [169]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Sam was a child), Abuse, Coping, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre series, Prior Abuse, Sexual Assault, Stanford Era, Trauma, non-graphic, prior sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8039497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: Jess notices a lot of things about Sam. He's got all these things about him, like this shyness and this way he draws away from physical touch, these baggy clothes and this reluctance to have sex. That's not even getting into the nightmares, the scars, or the million other things.She wants to help him, be there for him.





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> This is another piece from Tumblr.
> 
> Warnings: sexual assault of a minor in the past, which in non-graphic. Sam clearly has some trauma. It's Stanford era.

There are actual guides to this sort of thing. Not that Jess was really aware of them, when she first started noticing things. She didn’t even think _this,_ back when she first starts seeing things in him. She just thinks, there are probably things about his childhood that he’s not sharing. Like, his Dad doesn’t sound like he was picnics and roses, exactly, but maybe it was a little worse than Sam makes it out to be.

The guy always wears about three layers. Generally, they’re baggy as well as numerous, which she’s always found a little weird–she knows the basics of what Sam looks like under his clothes, and it is _good_. Not something most people want to hide, that’s for sure. It could be ninety-five, and he still wears it. He wears sweatpants and a full sweatshirt to the gym, and it’s not like he goes easy on himself.

That’s just the start. He has this strange…shyness isn’t the right word, not really, but he hates when people, especially strangers, pay too close attention to him. He shies away from most any touch, and when she convinces him to stay the night, she learns about the nightmares. Of course, he reacts to those with guilt, like it’s his fault his brain is giving him shit at two am.

She still doesn’t really get it. She’s a biologist, not a psychologist, not a trauma specialist. She likes Sam, she really, _really_  does, but she barely knows the guy. She supposes she deserves some slack, in not piecing it together.

“Sam,” she says in bed one night. He’s on his own side, as always, and she doesn’t push. “Look, you don’t have to answer me, but I’ve just been–some of the things–something happened when you were a kid, didn’t it?”

He freezes, then looks like he’s forcing himself to relax. “Lots of things happened when I was a kid,” he says evenly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I don’t know what it is,” she says. “Something–something that upset you, though. Left you a little afraid. What you have nightmares about.”

“I have nightmares about a lot of things,” Sam says, and he seems honest, too. “Most of them aren’t real.”

“The nightmare that has to do with the baggy clothes and not liking people touching you and being so…shy…about….well, sex,” she finishes lamely.

He shifts. “Is that something you want? I’m sorry. I should have realized. I can–”

“Hey,” she says, and she doesn’t know if she should reach out to him or not. She tries, just letting her fingers rest on top of his hand. He doesn’t pull away, so she supposes that that’s a start. “I only want it if you do. What we have is nice. I just–like I said. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want to help. If you’ll let me.”

She’s not sure she can fuck this up any worse, have it come out any more awkward, but Sam seems to be looking thoughtful. “It was my fault,” he says.

She shakes her head, sure of this much. “Nothing that happens to a little kid is their fault,” she says.

Sam shrugs. “Sure, I mean–I don’t think it’s my fault he was sick like that, wanted me or whatever. I don’t believe that shit, really. But the fact that I couldn’t make him stop? Yeah. That’s on me. I was trained. I shouldn’t have–well, I should have been able to make him stop.”

Jess sucks in a sharp breath, because that–that sounds like–

“Sam,” she says, trying to keep her voice level, “can you tell me what exactly happened?”

Sam doesn’t look at her, just shrugs. “I guess. I mean, I started. And you deserve to know, if we’re…like this. It was a clown. At those Plucky places? My brother used to dump me there when he needed a break. And there was one…well, Dean didn’t pick me up, and it was a weird time of day. Place was practically empty. Followed me to the bathroom.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about the rest. I’m sure you can guess.”

She gently squeezes the hand she’s still holding. “That’s okay,” she says softly, trying to keep her voice even. “You–you don’t have to. God, Sam, maybe I shouldn’t’ve asked–”

He shrugs again. “Guess you should know,” he says. “Why I’m so weird. Or part of it, I guess.”

“You’re not _weird_ ,” she says vehemently.

He manages to look at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Kinda am. If you noticed all that.”

“You’re hurt. That doesn’t make you weird.”

Sam seems to shudder and manage to laugh at the same time. “Thank you,” he says. Then, “Can I…it’s alright if you don’t want to touch me anymore, I’d get it, but…”

“Come here,” she offers gently, not waiting for him to finish the request. He immediately moves so he’s lying with his head on her stomach, breathing softly.

She wants to say something, but doesn’t know what. Instead, she focuses on stopping the tremors in her hands, and stroking Sam’s hair and back, gently, consistently, until he drifts off to sleep on top of her.


End file.
